Chapter 6
Trapped!
Fya slowly opened her eyes to an unrecognizable environment.
“Where am I,” was the instinctive response. There was no reply.
Noticing she was laying on her back and it was an uncomfortable surface, she sat up with her feet dangling off something into thin air. She now got a good look at where she was.
All around were forbidding stonewalls accompanied with minimal lighting that came from a small opening in the ceiling and some torch light from outside a barred door. Looking down, seeing that she had been lying on a stone table, made her recognize that her back was stiff and she arched it trying to loosen it. The room wasn’t that big either, barely enough to fit the table, chair, and a pile of hay in a corner, which gave her an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She knew where this was, and dreaded the notion of staying here any longer. The dungeons weren’t a safe play for anyone, especially for someone who needed to talk to the pope. Even worse, was these were the Pope’s jail cells. She knew because being of the “wrong gender” for a cardinal, often sent her down here away from persecution. She snorted at the thought of ever being accepted by the community, but dreams can come true.
Not knowing why she was here or how she got here, added to the mystery. There wasn’t even any recollection of what had happened after falling off the boat, so how she got here remained unexplained. She even didn’t remember anything after gathering information on The Dutchman’s Pleasure.
Standing up, her knees failed and immediately fell down landing on the useless knees. Being a cardinal and not cursing, Fya’s head lifted righteously, but was full of tears cascading down her face. Crying made it even worse; this wasn’t how a cardinal acted, and this certainly wasn’t where a cardinal should be. She pounded her fists on the floor until they were numb and ringing. Meanwhile, a little puddle made from tears was forming as the never-ending waterfall kept on coming.
When she looked up there was a basket sitting peacefully with bread and a cup of wine, which she could barely perceive. Being suspicious made her look at the basket and see that it was attached to a rope that led up into the ceiling. There they sat looking innocent enough as a tear rolled across her cheek. The cardinal had some dignity left and brushed the tear away as her stomach growled. Now sitting she took the bread, gave thanks, and broke it. The imprisoned cardinal delicately put the bread on her lips, and then gobbled it up, nearly choking on the staleness. The woman spat out some, but was too hungry not to eat some.
Then laughter apparently came from nowhere, yet everywhere at once, it echoed off the walls repetitively, making Fya’s ears hurt. Standing up and putting hands over hurting ears, she pleaded, “Stop, stop, this is not a laughing matter!”
“I have never seen a cardinal bless bread and then spatted out,” this provoked even more hearty laughter.
Not being able to think or see clearly she stumbled around and eventually tripped. She laid there on the ground trying to protect the precious ears from the damaging noise.
“Aww did I hurt yo—,” he was interrupted as someone new, who she could not make out, talked in a whisper to the laugher.
With a resounding, “yes, your holiness,” the door started to lift off the ground and go into the ceiling. Then footsteps resounded off the stone floor in the direction of the prisoner. Fya could make out torchlight coming her way, steadily.
“Cardinal de Villaines, are you here?”
“Yes,” answered Fya humbly, wondering who would come to visit her. The torchlight and the footsteps kept coming closer and closer, until she had to shield her eyes from the blinding light.
Getting the hint, the torchbearer apologized and blew the torch out. This made it so their eyes didn’t have enough time to adjust and they couldn’t see each other. When they finally attuned, they saw who was there, and Fya gave a squeak of astonishment, knowing what such beautiful robes meant.
“Giovanni, what are doing down here, a Pope shouldn’t waste time with unworthies like me.”
“My child,” Giovanni said while sitting down, “do not worry, I am here merely to talk with you.”
The prisoner nodded and asked the most obvious question, “why am I here?”
“To keep you safe and a secret, you know I would never hurt anyone,” Pope Innocent VIII smiled the smile that partly got him elected and opened his arms to her.
Taking them, she hugged the Pope and started sobbing on him, getting the stunning robes sullied. Seeing what she was doing, the cardinal pulled back, and started weeping even more.
Comforting the girl he spoke, “don’t worry, it is fine. If you must know, I was the person who found you limp on the beach, and then I brought you where it would be safe. Don’t be afraid, as do you think I am God, and should be feared? I am only an idol whose hands are tied and whose feet are kissed.”
First, she stared not comprehending what the pope meant. Then it dawned on her.
“Why do you worry for your life? You are the Pope and command ten thousand men.”
“Ten thousand men who listen to their ruler, not me. I have too many enemies, too little friends, and it is too late to save me.”
“I am your friend,” Fya announced, half not believing what the pope was saying. Even if half was true as it didn’t matter because Fya started to weep again.
Giovanni smiled weakly, “I know you are child. Here let me take you upstairs, and hopefully I can arrange you safe passage back home.”
Fya stood up and helped the Pope stand. Once he stood up he fell, but Fya caught him and lifted him back up. They laughed, but it was a weak laugh, a defeated laugh. They walked towards the door with their arms around each other. Stepping in unison and at a leisurely pace, until they made to the gate. When they got out of the gate, there was a group of a dozen people, headed by a cardinal, waiting for them, and they didn’t look too pleased. Worse was that they were standing in front of an impenetrable stonewall.
Greeting them, Giovanni exclaimed, “Brother Pot de la Roche of Bourgogne, Burgundy, glad to see you, where ever that might be, even if it is in the dungeons.”
“You know what I want, step down or die,” Cardinal Pot de la Roche threatened pointing to his mob of followers, who looked eager to obey his every command.
“Why do all Burgundians act so rash,” Giovanni thought aloud, “and why are cardinals nowadays so young?” Looking at Cardinal Pot de la Roche, “now, Josua, don’t threaten me, we are Catholics and we don’t want God to frown on us, do we?”
“That is it,” Josua smiled menacingly, “ATTACK!” Josua threw his arms forward signaling for them to assail.
Immediately a dozen pitchforks showed their nasty heads and pointed it towards the Pope. Giovanni just stood there looking at them saying a silent prayer. Advancing slowly they eventually had Fya’s and Giovanni’s back against the wall.
The assailants had fires in their eyes and in the heart. They mockingly poked them with head of the pitchforks. Yet there was some reluctance to harm the pope and a faithful cardinal.
Josua screamed, “Do I have to tell you what they have done again?”
Fya looked at Giovanni quizzically and Giovanni looked at Fya, then fell to his knees, and mumbled, “I surrender.”
The advancing attackers put up their weapons and waited for their leader’s next move. Unnoticed was the wink that the pope gave to Fya. Getting the hint, she decided to act upon it and charge her way through and escape.
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Boudy was on deck and angry. Ivan, that Russian dog, betrayed him, spied too, and tried to figure out stuff he shouldn’t even worry about. Luckily for Boudy, Ivan was on deck along with him, and was signaling for him to come over where he was.
“What’s wrong captain, why do you look angry. Ivan joked merrily, “Not enough time to sleep?”
“Why you little cur,” Boudy yelled who was starting to run and gain momentum to charge Ivan.
Seeing the captain charging him, Ivan had to keep his calm. “Woah, slow down, I am not the enemy, besides, do you want to commit a sin in front of the car--ishop.” Remembering that the captain hadn’t told him they were carrying a cardinal instead of a bishop, his face got beet red.
Thinking better of it, the captain slowed down and made his way towards Ivan slower, but still infuriated. Ivan pointed to the visitor that Boudy hadn’t yet noticed. It was now Boudy’s turn to change colors, since he acted irrationally in front of a visitor.
He turned to face the visitor and was pleasantly surprised to find out it was Cardinal Van Utenhove. “Hello, Cardinal ready to go back home,” asked Boudy, secretly hopingly for a yes.
“No, I have yet unfinished business to attend to,” was his deadpan response.
Boudy’s heart sank; he had made up his mind what the next plan of attack was for his crew, and it was to leave as soon as possible. “Then why have you come?”
“I need you,” Cardinal Van Utenhove commanded, “come,” and he was already walking away.
“For what,” Boudy retorted. The cardinal stopped and twisted his body so he looked squarely into Boudy’s eyes.
“Come or nightmares shall come true for you,” the cardinal resumed walking away from the ship, “oh, and alone.”
Boudy looked at Ivan and then at the cardinal leaving, and did a couple times until he made up his mind. “I’ll deal with you later,” he said to Ivan, starting to jog to catch up with the Van Utenhove.
“I’m sure you will,” sighed Ivan.
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